


grunt

by gonnapop



Series: Pokémon Breeders [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Artificial Insemination, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Breeding, Forced Pregnancy, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Other, Pregnancy Kink, Trans Male Character, birth kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonnapop/pseuds/gonnapop
Summary: When a hapless Team Rocket grunt loses a shipment of rare Pokemon, the boss gives him a chance to redeem himself—by personally breeding replacements.





	grunt

**Author's Note:**

> this is a quick one based on [a message I received on tumblr](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/post/159581095910/what-would-you-think-about-a-story-involving-a). I know I mentioned Eevee in my response to the prompt, but I recently received a request for more canine stuff, and frankly, I’ve been itching to write puppy!preg again. I just have a weird thing about puppies, I guess. 
> 
> also, as usual, our poor protagonist is a trans guy who has all the pipes and wires necessary for childbearing. (I’m not really a fan of assbabies.) that said, we’re playing fast and loose with biology. enjoy!

By the time Cody is allowed into the boss’s office, he has to clasp his hands behind his back to hide how badly they’re shaking. He never dreamed that the boss would actually agree to meet him in person, not after how colossally he fucked up. Frankly, he’s shocked that he wasn’t immediately booted from Team Rocket after the incident—or worse. And yet, he’s here now, having been granted an opportunity to plead his case.

The boss’s office is about as opulent as Cody would’ve imagined, full of amber light, the walls covered in beautiful, probably priceless artwork. He treads lightly across the polished floor and stops in front of the massive desk, where the boss is seated with all the regal bearing of an emperor.

“Sir,” Cody begins, groping mentally for the speech he rehearsed. “I want to thank you for taking the time to meet with me. It’s an honor to meet you, sir, and I really appreciate you giving me a chance to explain—”

“To explain what happened?” The boss’s eyes are dark and narrow, sharp enough to cut gems. He leans forward slightly, elbows on the grand wooden desk, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I already know what happened. A whole shipment of rare Pokémon was seized by the authorities, because of you. Did you think you could walk in here and convince me it wasn’t your fault?”

“No, sir!” Cody stammers desperately. “Not at all. I meant, I wanted to tell you that I take full responsibility for what happened, and I want—”

“Do you have any idea how much money you’ve cost me? More than you’ll make in a lifetime. Any one of those Pokémon was worth more than you. If you belonged to any other organization, they would’ve chopped you into chum and fed you to the Sharpedo by now.”

Sweat is beading on the back of Cody’s neck. He feels his heart thump uncertainly. “I know, sir.”

“But,” the boss continues, “there may be a way for you to make up for the loss, if you’re willing to show me how dedicated you are to Team Rocket.”

“Yes, sir,” Cody says, practically tripping over himself to get the words out. “Of course. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right—anything. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

The boss smiles faintly. “Excellent. Because it’s my understanding that you have a valuable resource of your own, just waiting to be used.”

Cody pauses, blinking. “Me?” he asks. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I follow—”

“Your cunt,” the boss says, his voice clipped. He leans forward, arms folded on the desk. “I’m told you’ve got a cunt, and a working womb, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t turn them both over to the service of Team Rocket.”

“But—sir, I can’t—my—” Cody sputters, his mind reeling. What the boss is saying doesn’t make sense to him. It must be a misunderstanding.

“The simplest way for us to replace the Pokémon you lost is to breed more, using the specimens still in our possession,” says the boss, in a tone that sends chills up Cody’s spine. “To make up for all those lost profits, you’re going to carry the new product—unless you’d like me to come up with another punishment?”

As the words sink in, Cody is terrified. Everything in him wants to refuse, but he’s even more afraid of what punishment the boss might cook up as a substitute. He doesn’t see any choice, not really.

“Sure, boss,” he forces himself to say. “I’ll do it.”

The boss smiles.

 

* * *

 

As it happens, because Team Rocket deals so much in the breeding and trafficking of rare Pokémon, they have a team of scientists hard at work on methods to increase fertility. They’ve been successful on Pokémon so far—and apparently, Cody will be the first human subject.

They tell him he’s going to carry Growlithe first. When he gets the news, Cody is wildly afraid that he’s going to be fucked by an Arcanine, but apparently, the doctors have a different plan.

For the next few weeks, he practically lives in the medical wing of a Team Rocket base, constantly getting injections. Apparently, he’ll remain here until he gives birth, so he can receive the best care. He doesn’t know what’s being pumped into his body, exactly, only that these substances are supposed to make him frantically fertile. By the time he begins to feel sick with it—constantly woozy from the hormones rushing through his body—the doctors determine that he’s at peak fertility. It’s time for him to be inseminated.

Cody is strapped to a table, his feet raised in stirrups. A masked doctor tells him to relax before shoving something cold and hard into his cunt, as deep as it will go. He tenses, biting his lip to keep from crying out as a thick, cool substance is pumped into him.

The doctor repeats this process three more times—apparently, just one load of Arcanine semen isn’t enough. When she’s done, she shoves a thick plug into him.

Within two weeks of the insemination, Cody is feeling nauseated and bloated. His tits are oddly sore. A blood test confirms that the procedure was successful. He’s pregnant.

It doesn’t seem quite real to him, not until he’s laid out on the exam table again with an ultrasound wand jammed up his cunt. He can’t make out anything on the grainy black-and-white screen, but apparently, the technician can. It takes her a minute to tally up the contents of his womb.

“Ten,” she declares at last. “A nice, big litter. Looks like the fertility treatment really worked.”

If Cody didn’t feel sick to his stomach before this appointment, he does now.

 

* * *

 

The puppies grow fast. It makes sense, Cody supposes, because the whole pregnancy is only supposed to last nine weeks—but he’s afraid his body won’t be able to handle the strain.

Within a week of the first ultrasound, his lower belly is rounding out. He notices a strange new weight there, as well: his increasingly-heavy womb, full of puppies and amniotic fluid. By the time he’s five weeks pregnant, his back is curving under the weight of his swollen belly.

He can feel the puppies moving inside of him. They’re getting stronger by the day, more active. He can’t imagine there’s much room for them to move around, not with ten of them competing for space, but somehow, they manage to tumble and squirm. The nurses provide him with lotion, so he can massage his taut, stretch-marked belly. It only helps a little.

 

* * *

 

Unsurprisingly, Cody’s tits have ballooned to almost three times their usual size. His nipples are big and dark and extraordinary sensitive, to the point that he can barely stand to feel his flimsy hospital gown brush against his chest. The medical staff decide to hook him up to a breast pump, to stockpile milk for the puppies—an efficient use of resources.

It’s a relief to be milked the first time, easing the ache in his heavy breasts. But before long, Cody realizes that the constant stimulation is causing his tits to swell up faster, to grow even bigger, so full of milk that they’re almost hard. Soon he needs to be milked day and night just to keep from leaking all over himself. It’s miserable, frustrating him to the point of tears.

At eight and a half weeks along, Cody is miserable. A week ago, he was provided with a bigger hospital bed, to accommodate his belly as he reclines on his side—he’s much too big to lie on his back, or even to sit up for long. His heavy womb has pushed the rest of his organs into uncomfortable configurations, encroaching on the space his lungs usually enjoy.

The puppies might come any day. As much as he’s dreading the birth, he wants this ordeal to be over. He’s exhausted, bone-deep. He’s too pregnant to do anything but lie in bed like some kind of brood sow, so enormous with puppies that he can barely move, the pump suckling noisily at his tits at all hours. He can’t even bathe himself anymore; the nurses have to help him. It’s unbearable.

Inside, the puppies squirm. He can actually see some of them moving, their little bodies outlined against the thin skin of his belly, sliding and rolling over. The rest, he can only feel—deep inside him, low in the cradle of his hips.

Suppressing a moan of dismay, Cody rubs concentric circles into his belly, in the hope that the rhythmic movement will calm the puppies. He can’t reach all the way around his own midsection, but he does his best.

 

* * *

 

Cody goes into labor right on schedule, at nine weeks and three days. An epidural would impede his ability to push effectively, the doctors claim, and so he’s forced to labor without one, enduring increasingly painful contractions as hours crawl by. His belly tenses with each one, the rippling of his womb helping to work the puppies lower and lower, toward the mouth of his cunt.

It’s not until his water breaks—a sudden gush of hot fluid down his thighs—that they prop him up in the birthing bed, his legs raised in stirrups.

“Push,” the doctor is telling him, sounding somewhat impatient. She’s positioned between his legs, where the first puppy is crowning. Her mouth and nose are covered by a white mask, so he can only see her sharp dark eyes. “It won’t come out unless you push—”

“I’m trying,” Cody moans. He feels nauseated and shaky; his skin is tacky with sweat. After hours of labor, he’s exhausted. “Oh, fuck. I can’t—”

“You have to. There’s only one way it’s going to come out of you. Now, push.”

Making a helpless noise, Cody pushes again and feels his cunt stretch around a solid object. It stings, and it feels incredibly tight—tighter than the thickest cock he’s ever taken. He’s afraid this puppy with rip his cunt wide open, but there’s nothing for it now. The urge to push is unbearable. Instinctively, he tucks his chin against his breastbone, curves his spine forward, and strains.

His whole body is shaking with effort. As he pushes, the moan rising from his throat somehow turns into a yell. There’s an incredible, white-hot stretch—and then a sudden wet give as the puppy slides out of his cunt, into the doctor’s waiting hands.

Lightheaded, Cody watches as she raises the puppy closer to her face for inspection. It’s damp and bloody, a bit smaller than he would’ve thought, eyes closed. The doctor doesn’t offer to let him touch or hold the puppy—either because she thinks Cody would have no interest, or because it’s not allowed. In the end, he supposes, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like these puppies were ever going to be his to keep. He just carried them for a while, that’s all.

“Good,” the doctor says at last, handing the wriggling puppy to a nurse. Her gloved hands are coated in gore. She turns back to Cody, settling back into her spot between his thighs. “Only nine more to go.”

 

* * *

 

The breeding cycle becomes routine. It goes like this:

Cody is pumped full of hormones, strapped to a table, and generously inseminated. For nine weeks, he swells obscenely, and then labors to squeeze out another litter. Each pregnancy is more fecund than the last—either because his body is getting used to this process, or because the fertility treatments are improving. At his most fertile, he carries a litter of sixteen. He can barely waddle around toward the end of that pregnancy.

Each birth is easier than the one before: By the third time around, the puppies practically fall out of him, only needing a gentle push. Once he’s delivered, the medical staff allows him to rest in the little room that’s become a kind of home to him, mostly undisturbed except for standard checkups. When he’s deemed sufficiently recovered, the cycle starts over.

He spends almost a year like that, bred up and full. In the end, he gives birth to five big litters—almost seventy healthy puppies—before he’s told there won’t be any more.

The relief that floods him is almost indescribable. He’s exhausted, physically and mentally, but he’s done his job. Finally, he’s demonstrated to the boss that he’s willing to take responsibility for his mistakes. He can get back to his life now.

That blissful feeling doesn’t last long, though, because the doctor who just told him that he’s done having puppies keeps talking.

“Now that you’re a proven breeder, we can move on to more difficult specimen,” she says.

“What?” Cody’s sure he misheard.

“Certain Pokémon are more difficult to breed than others. Even if you can facilitate mating or artificial insemination, some species just don’t carry pregnancies well in captivity. That’s where you come in.” A bland smile crosses the doctor’s face, like she’s not talking about using a human as a brood sow “Your body gives us the opportunity to experiment with breeding without risking the health of any rare Pokémon.”

“But—I never—” Cody sputters. “I agreed to the Growlithe, but not this—”

The doctor goes on as if he hadn’t spoken: “Now, the boss has suggested that we begin with Lapras…”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the inspiration, anon! I hope you liked what I did with the prompt. because this concept lends itself so well to additional exploration, I plan to update occasionally with a new chapter, each one focusing on a different kind of pregnancy. next up: Lapras.
> 
> as always, you’re invited to come holler at me [on tumblr](http://gonna-pop.tumblr.com/ask). ♥


End file.
